


Wild Heart

by giidas (KatushkaK)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles, Beta Derek, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatushkaK/pseuds/giidas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And no, I did not get us a room,” Derek adds, just to be sure.<br/>“Let me get us one, then. Any preferences?”<br/>Derek lifts his eyebrows and gives Stiles his best are-you-being-serious-right-now look.<br/>Stiles honest to god laughs out loud, startling Derek by clapping him on the shoulder and saying: “Oh, I like you already, so much sass!” and then goes off to procure a key to a room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A [photoset](http://thegrumpiestwolf.tumblr.com/post/39003464189/sterek-au-derek-is-looking-for-a-new-alpha-what) with Alpha Stiles and Beta Derek happened, and then did a drabble and then this, too.  
> Beta read and corrected by the amazing [Aegeus](http://tumblytumbl.tumblr.com/), thank you so much <3

Derek doesn’t really know what he’s doing here. 

Well, no, that’s a lie. He rolls his eyes because really, he is too old to be lying to himself. He looks at the boy that just came in through the double door, the boy who looks to be all of seventeen, if Derek’s feeling generous. How the hell is that supposed to be the famous, or rather, infamous, Stiles Stilinski, is beyond Derek.

The motel lobby is shady at best, deserted but for the clerk who’s watching something in Spanish, not paying them any attention. Derek chose a spot at the far end of the lobby, by the hall that leads to the ground floor rooms - he has a clear view of the entry way and the hallway provides an emergency route out, just in case. You can never be too careful.

Derek keeps thinking it was a good idea, the motel lobby, because Stiles looks positively jailbait and the original meeting point Derek had in mind was a bar two streets over. He doesn’t think even a fake ID would have done Stiles any good.

“Derek, am I right,” says the boy while he approaches Derek’s corner of the lobby.

Derek nods and adds, amused, “And you’re supposed to be Stiles?”

“That’d be me, yes, Derek.” There’s something about his eyes Derek can’t place, something he does not seem to be able to read in them and it makes him agitated, makes him want to keep his guard up. And so he goes in for the kill because he might as well, there's really no reason not to.

“So you actually expect me to believe the legend that is going around, the one that says your Alpha powers combined with the magical heritage that you had as a human made your aging slow so much you still look 17 years old even thought you’re 28.” Derek’s eyebrows manage to rise so far up his forehead they essentially disappear in his hairline.

Stiles just keeps looking at him, his pulse steady and calm, his eyes focused on Derek only.

“I could tell you the whole story, but the legend pretty much has it right, unless you heard the most screwed up version of it, but if you did, you would not be here now, so I feel safe enough to say that you know the basic facts, yes. Whether or not you believe them, that’s not up to me. But, Derek, if you want to join my pack - and by the looks of it, you do - you will have to learn to trust me,” Stiles finishes, his posture relaxed, as if he was talking about the unseasonably lovely weather they were having this week. He moves closer, props his shoulder on the wall next to Derek and leans into it, keeps looking at Derek, and now it’s just unnerving. Derek’s instincts are battling in him, not knowing if he should challenge by looking steadily back or if he should submit and look away first.

Stiles solves the issue for him by smirking and finally, finally blinking and looking at the clerk, whose soap just ended and so he deigned to acknowledge their presence in his lobby by scowling at them as if their sole existence on this planet was to annoy him, as if they weren't possibly bringing in business.

“Did you manage to book a room before I came in or was he too engrossed in _Corazón Salvaje_ to even notice you’re here?” Stiles asks, a little smile playing on his lips.

“ _Corazón Salvaje_? Really?”

“Ah, sweet memories, I will tell you the story one day, if you’re a good boy.” Stiles’ eyes are all playful innocence now, and if Derek didn’t know who he was talking to, he could see himself trusting the front that Stiles put up, believing that he was being teased by a teenager.

“And no, I did not get us a room,” Derek adds, just to be sure.

“Let me get us one, then. Any preferences?”

Derek lifts his eyebrows and gives Stiles his best are-you-being-serious-right-now look.

Stiles honest to god laughs out loud, startling Derek by clapping him on the shoulder and saying: “Oh, I like you already, so much sass!” and then goes off to procure a key to a room. The clerk keeps shooting Derek suspicious glances and Derek is suddenly aware of the fact that he is 25 and looks well older, thanks to his recent bout of not shaving, and how this all must seem to the _Corazón Salvaje_ fan. Well, let him have his star crossed lovers meeting in real life fantasy; it’s not as if the motel is classy enough that Derek is scared he’d call the police on them.

Stiles comes back with the key and leads the way to a second floor room. Derek tries to stealthily check for emergency exit routes and Stiles keeps smirking at him.

Room number 12 is small and smells like it hasn’t been properly cleaned in a good long while. Stiles goes straight for the window and opens it all the way, letting the cold night air in, and then sits on the queen sized bed, looks up at Derek.

“Will you just keep standing by the door like that all night, Derek? I am not actually physically forcing you to be here, you know that, right? You were the one who wanted to meet _me_.”

Derek is well aware of all of that, but ever since he saw Stiles come in the lobby, his instincts have been all over the place and he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. He settles on leaning his shoulders on the wall behind him and remains standing, trying not to make it look like a challenge.

“Ooooh-kay then.” Stiles holds the _o_ for a while and Derek’s eyes are glued to his lips the whole time. Jesus, what a mouth, Derek thinks and tries to breathe evenly, to keep his pulse steady.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Derek, that’s why I agreed to meet you. I will get straight to the point. I know what happened to your family.” Derek doesn’t wince, he learned to rein in his reactions a long time ago and he was expecting Stiles to find out everything about him before he even agreed to meet him in person. He did the same, after all.

“I know that thanks to some freakish chance, you didn’t get the Alpha power even after being the last Hale standing. I know you’ve been looking for a pack and an Alpha for more than eight years and I know you must be desperate by now.” Stiles says all this evenly, calmly, not betraying his intentions, not giving Derek any indication as to what he thinks about the Beta, if he wants him or doesn’t find him worthy.

“I wouldn’t say I’m desperate. I have been doing pretty well on my own so far, but...” Derek hesitates, trying to decide if he should be totally honest or just stop right there and not say anything else.

Stiles decides for him by adding, quietly, “...it does get awfully lonely.” He props his elbows on his knees and looks up at Derek, who nods his acknowledgement.

“Will you join my pack, Derek.” It’s not really a question, but it’s not _not_ one either.

“You’re a lone Alpha, Stiles, you don’t _have_ a pack,” Derek can’t help but point out.

Stiles is right there, right in front of Derek, not even a foot away.

“Yet,” he says, low, “I don’t have a pack _yet_ , Derek,” and his eyes shine red and Derek _needs_ to bare his throat to him, and the rightness of it makes him catch his breath. This is different than what submission to his father felt like and Derek suddenly understands why his instincts have been all over the place tonight. _Jesus_. 

“Derek.” Stiles sounds a bit winded himself.

“Derek, tell me you can feel it too. Tell me you can feel it too or tell me to stop. Right now.” There are hands on his biceps, claws digging through his jacket, into his skin, piercing it and Derek hisses and bares his throat even further as his answer. The groan that reverberates through Stiles’ chest makes Derek want to unashamedly fall to his knees, but he’s being held up and there is a nose pressed into the hollow of his neck and Stiles is breathing him in, pressing his whole body to Derek’s, and breathing and breathing and _breathing_. Every exhale that leaves Stiles’ mouth comes a bit faster, a bit shorter, a bit more desperate than the last one and there’s a thudthudthudthudthuding in Derek’s ears, Stiles’ heartbeat trying to win the race against Derek’s rapid one and almost managing it, almost.

When Derek’s hands finally find their way to Stiles’ hips and try to get him even closer, something seems to break in Stiles and he whines, like he’s been wounded and then there are blunt human teeth biting Derek’s neck, hard, and Stiles’ left hand is angling Derek’s head further and baring his neck even more and he bites and marks and whines and licks and breathes him in and bites again and Derek is raging hard and his wolf wants to be owned in any and every way possible and Derek is falling to pieces.

Stiles undoes his belt with his right hand only, clumsily, and it takes ages, but he doesn’t want to let go of Derek’s neck with his other hand and Derek is glad for it, preferring the wait rather than losing that intimate point of contact, the way Stiles’ thumb strokes at his pulse point and his short nails scratch at the short hair on his nape.

When the belt is undone and the jeans are dealt with, Stiles slowly raises his head and looks at Derek, his eyes honey brown, and Derek nods.

Stiles’ first touch is electrifying, makes Derek’s head thud against the wall, makes his breath catch in his throat, and Stiles’ head is on his shoulder and when Derek raises his back up again he realizes Stiles is watching himself jerk Derek off. The pace is agonizingly slow, the sweetest torture, Stiles playing Derek like an instrument, like he has all the time in the world to do this, to tease him. Derek manages to get a clear moment to realize that Stiles is still clothed. He grabs for the jeans, no belt, and gets them undone, goes for Stiles' cock but his hand is batted away and pinned above his head, told to keep there with a look, and then Stiles has both their cocks in his right hand, moving it slowly from the bases to the tips, all the while looking at Derek, keeping eye contact. Derek wants to close his eyes, get away from the intensity of the situation, but can’t.

“ _Jesus_ , Stiles.”

As an answer, Stiles presses his left thumb to Derek’s pulse point, attaches his lips and teeth right next to it and quickens the pace of his right hand, adding a little twist at the tips, caressing the head of Derek’s cock with his thumb. Derek could not keep still if he wanted to, his hips keep jerking and Stiles’ are pressing in counterpoint. Derek gets his leg between Stiles’ thighs and his hands on Stiles’ ass, helps him along, keeps squeezing the firm muscles because he cannot help himself and Stiles is groaning and whining and Derek thinks that he will never forget how delicious Stiles sounds when he’s coming undone.

Stiles’ nose is buried in the hollow of Derek’s neck and his breaths are coming quicker as his movements are becoming more frantic and uncoordinated. Derek moves his left hand to Stiles’ nape and squeezes there, presses his face even closer. Stiles firms his grip and speeds up his movements and Derek is almost there, can feel it in the way his muscles tighten, in the way he wants to curl up and unwind at the same time. He squeezes Stiles’ nape again and Stiles bites down on his neck and groans, comes all over his own hand and Derek’s cock and Derek’s senses are suddenly overwhelmed by _Stiles_ and _Mate_ and _Alpha_ and _Right_ and _Home_ and he whines his release into Stiles’ neck.

Their breaths are still coming fast when Stiles starts slowly letting go of Derek’s neck and Derek is having none of it, letting go of Stiles’ ass to press the hand back to his neck. He can feel the smile on Stiles’ lips and is surprised to find and answering one on his own.

“I’m not going anywhere, Derek,” Stiles says, low, a bit hoarse, but doesn’t try to let go again, instead raises his head and looks at Derek, searches his face. Then he slowly brings his right hand up and licks his palm, keeping eye contact, and Derek groans and grabs for the hand himself, tastes _them_ , mixed together, and licks Stiles’ hand clean while Stiles watches him with red eyes. When his hand is as clean as it will get, he brings it up to Derek’s throat, caressing his other pulse point and Derek moans low in his throat.

“Derek.”

Derek opens his eyes and looks at Stiles, realizes how close Stiles’ mouth is to his and that they haven’t even kissed yet. _Jesus_.

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you.” Again with the not _not_ question, Derek wants to laugh but the hot breath on his lips and the fact that he can almost _taste_ Stiles on his tongue just take the humor out of the situation. He decides that sass is overrated and goes with a simple almost not there _yes_ that ends up being swallowed by Stiles’ lips.


End file.
